


A Darker Disney

by timetorespawn



Category: Aladdin (1992), Beauty and the Beast (1991), Disney - All Media Types, Hercules (1997), Peter Pan (1953), Tarzan (1999)
Genre: Choking, Gangbang, M/M, Smut, Unconscious Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-04-24 11:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19172449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timetorespawn/pseuds/timetorespawn
Summary: The stars align for a reversal of fate for our heroes and villains. Sexy bad ends await. Read at your own discretion; all warnings apply and I own nothing.





	1. Capturing Tarzan

There was a light breeze that morning, and the jungle was already alive with sound. A light mist hung around the trees and filtered light wafted to the jungle floor, where a man stalked. He slowly advanced, his legs roped with sinewy muscle as they supported him from his low squat. His feet were at once masculine, muscled and calloused and broad, and delicate, finding each foothold carefully, caressing branches that might break and give away his position. His arms reached down past his coarse loin cloth, his hands joining his feet in propelling him carefully forward. Everything of his gait seemed like an ape’s-- but an ape with a crude spear strapped to his otherwise bare back.

Above the scent of the light perspiration beading across his lithe body, above the faint blooms of flowers and earthy decay of the soil beneath his feet, he smelled something familiar. Something familiar, but out of place. Something he thought he had killed.  
\-----------  
Clayton felt he had chosen the wrong profession. He was skilled and capable, but he hated the bush. No sooner did one bathe (as he just had in the river by camp) than he immediately began to sweat again. Basic amenities, and the luxury ones he preferred, had to be carried from place to place, preferably by a team of willing servants. He had no servants this time-- no one at all, in fact, besides a few flea-bitten mules. He had to travel lighter than in his last journey, which made it all the more unpleasant. Then again, all of the months of planning and packing and training for that last trip hadn't saved his neck. Literally.

He was indignant to have died. He was a perfect specimen of manhood; a British adventurer's dream. When he was given the chance to reverse his odds by that god of death, he hadn't needed a second to consider his choices. He sprang into action.

And so here he was, six weeks later, bathing in a godforsaken river with a fraction of his gear that he recovered from the nearest outpost. Rather than deal with the bulk of a full tent he had rigged up a canvas tarp overhead. There was another tarp set on the ground for a floor, and a foldable table, an easel, and a lone chair. He grabbed the towel draped over the back of the chair and wrapped it tightly around his waist as he proceeded to the back of his quarters. Bags strewn about contained supplies for the expedition: standard camp foods, hunting gear, and medical equipment. 

There was far more medical equipment than usual. Outside of his standard kit, every other bag was loaded with syringes. It had taken him over 10 days of hard bushwacking to get here, and he couldn't afford to risk his catch awakening and escaping during the hike out. The tranquilizers were fast acting, but fast to fade, too. He had enough to use one every two hours, if it came to it.

He walked over to the only other bundle he had, the one luxury he afforded himself. He squatted down and began to unwrap the heavy burlap cover, feeling his balls graze the canvas between his feet. He lifted out the heavy frame, and walked over to place it on the easel.

Clayton examined his form in the mirror. When he awoke in Hades, he had been as hairless as the day he was born, but now he could see his fur beginning to grow back across his broad pecs, around his prominent nipples, and down his bulging abs to the towel wrapped around his waist. His cock began to swell and press against the towel as he admired himself, crowded with his balls between his massive and thighs. His beloved mustache was coming back now, too, but so was a beard across his cheeks and strong jaw. That wouldn't do. He may have lost most things when he died, but his vanity was still intact.

He had already poured out a bowl of water on the table next to his shaving kit. He lathered his face with cream, and removed the straight edge blade from the kit. He tilted his head back, keeping his eyes on the mirror, and brought the blade to his throat.

He shivered as he began to scrape the hair away, his skin prickling as the cold metal passed over his adam's apple. It had all ended so quickly. He had felt immortal, and with one wrong twist of his neck, it had ended. With one wrong twist of his wrist now, it would again. And he knew this time, there would be no second chances.

Death had been torment, like a night of sleep where you toss and turn, but can never wake up or sink into peace. He had been so tired, and so unable to find relief. He would do anything to avoid it, forever. It helped that the one thing he had to do to secure immortality was also the one thing he wanted to do, more than anything else. Vengeance would be his.

Satisfied with his work, Clayton put the blade down on the table, and bent over to splash the remaining cream off of his face. He straightened, wiping the water out of his eyes, and opened them. 

He caught a glint of metal in the mirror.

He didn't have time to think. He drove to his right, spilling the table and its contents across the floor. His mirror shattered as the spear went straight through the middle. He rolled to his hands and knees and felt his towel come loose, and looked up just in time to see a tanned figure lunging at him.

Clayton toppled backwards onto his back as Tarzan slammed into him. He felt a sharp pain as his head cracked into a pack. Before he could move, Tarzan straddled his waist and brought his hands to his neck.

Clayton gasped for air and tore at the hands at his throat. He flailed his legs, but Tarzan's thighs remained tightly pinned to hips, flesh grabbing flesh.

This couldn't be how it went, after all Clayton had been through. His vision was fading but his eyes darted wildly for salvation. He could see the ape man's loincloth splayed across his own belly, the dark body toned and glistening in the morning light. The face above him was mixed with a curious combination of rage and fear, dreads hanging down and brushing Clayton's cheek.

And then he realized his only chance.

Tarzan pulled back as Clayton rammed his open left palm into his face. Tarzan never lost his grip on Clayton's neck, and after a moment he felt the palm fall back. And then there was a flash, and a twinge in his shoulder.

Clayton gasped for air as the hands around his throat loosened, only to have it knocked out of him when Tarzan's limp form collapsed forward onto him. He struggled for another breath, then rolled the body off of him.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, just sucking in air, lying on his back next to his greatest foe, their chests rising and falling side by side. 

He swatted a mosquito from his ribs.

He sat up, and looked to his right.

Tarzan could have been sleeping, if it weren't for the syringe sticking out of his shoulder. Clayton reached over and pressed down the plunger, making sure every last drop had made it in to his assailant, and then drew it out and tossed it to the side. 

It had been close. But, as his nerves began to settle, he began to feel triumphant. This is what he had come here for-- and fate had brought the prey TO him. There would be no days of deprivation, stalking out the territory, looking for the slightest signs that Tarzan still frequented this neck of the wilderness. The hard part was done. He'd be going.

Clayton pushed himself to his feet, and winced as he cracked his neck. He shook out his arms, and let out a whoop. The morning was still young; he had plenty of time to pack up camp and start his long journey back. First, he owed himself a little celebration. 

He strode out to his mules, completely nude, and brought down the canteen he'd been saving for this occasion. He threw his head back and savored the burn of the whiskey as it glugged down his throat, some stinging as it spilled down his freshly shaved jaw and neck. For the second time that morning, he felt his cock pulse with interest. It seemed to have some other celebrating in mind.

Clayton strode back under the canvas and stopped at the feet of his captive. He had never gotten the chance to closely examine this specimen, not really closely. His cock hardened as his eyes travelled from the man's remarkably muscled feet, up his lithe calves and thighs to the loincloth only partially covering the package beneath. His waist was shockinly narrow compared to the chest it opened up into, with juicy brown nipples the size of a coin adorning each pec. The rage had fled the beast's face, and in sleep his remarkable jawline and cheekbones were all the more apparent. 

Clayton put one hand to his cock and began to gently tug on it, as he tilted his head back to drain the rest of the canteen. He stood there stroking for a moment of two more as the burn travelled down into his belly, then squatted down to tear aside Tarzan’s loincloth.

Clayton buried his face into the man's taint, inhaling deeply, and licked up into one of his sagging balls. He toyed with it in his mouth, and spit it out to avoid gagging on its limp weight. His hands clawed at the back of Tarzan's thick ass, and flipped his limp uncut cock up towards his belly button with his nose before tracing up it with his tongue. He sucked it up, hard, and swallowed the sweet taste as his hands scraped up the man's abs and found purchase on his pecs, mashing them gently around.

He spat as Tarzan's wet dick splattered back onto his abs, then followed it down. As he traced his tongue up the man's torso, he brought his hips forward and down, so that by the time his teeth clenched onto a nipple, his moaning cock was pressing up between his victim's inner thighs.

He dragged his teeth further up the man's chest, around the curve of his neck, and nibbled at his ear, pulling his body further forward. They were matched now- pec to pec, cock to cock. Clayton began to gently thrust, grinding his rock hard member into the (still massive) limp one beneath him. He raised his face to the savage's, and plunged his tongue into his mouth, exploring the hot cavern. He stayed there for a minute, probing and humping, his hands scraping up and down Tarzan's body.

He came up for air, and slid his hands under those broad shoulder blades. He rolled them both over in one motion, and paused for a moment to enjoy the dead weight of muscle pressing down on him. Then, he slid the savage off of him to the floor, sat up, and spat on his hand to keep pumping his cock. He was drenched, in both of their sweat. No need for lubricant.

He got on his hands and knees over Tarzan's back, and lowered his hips so his cock began to press up between the globes of his ass cheeks. He pressed and pressed, his hips almost level with the floor, and felt give as his cock pushed through the ring of muscle into the hot tunnel behind it. God, it was tight. 

Clayton began to fuck, slowly in and out, his arms flexing as they supported his upper body in a plank. He started to speed up, and could hear his balls slapping down with each thrust, sometimes smacking against his captive's genitals splayed on the ground. He lowered himself to his elbows as he pumped into and out of the muscled ass, then slid his left hand under Tarzan’s side and began to grip at his meaty pecs. He raised Tarzan's torso as he fondled it, rubbing his own stubbly chest and nipples against his toned upper back, and pounded harder. Tarzan's arms, neck, and head hung limply and jiggled against the floor as he was plowed.

In. Out. Scrape. Rub. Slap. Squish. The sounds of the jungle were nothing compared to Clayton ravaging his foe, soaking up the memory of every muscle as his cock stretched out the tightest hole in the biggest ass he had ever fucked. He was getting close now. He slid his right hand under Tarzan to join his groping left, lowering them both to be flat to the floor. He kept plowing, faster and faster, as he buried his nose into the nape of the ape man’s neck, one hand squeezing a hardening nipple while the other clawed down the abs pressed against the floor. He let out a cry as he began to cum, shaking as he pressed his hips hard up against Tarzan's ass, squeezing with his arms, surrounding his cock with the wet tunnel for it's full length as he emptied his load.

He relaxed his body, but stayed there, arms wrapped around his captive, softening cock still in the cum-filled ass. He breathed in the scent of the morning, growing later now, and of the man beneath him. It would be a later start than he had planned, but he wanted to rest here in his victory. Besides-- more days on the road meant more nights to play with his new toy before he reached his final destination.

The last thing Clayton did before dozing off to sleep, cock still sheathed in his enemy, was reach up with his right hand to the nearest pack, take a syringe, and empty it into the beast beneath him.


	2. Draining Hercules

Hercules was running as if his life depended on it. His lungs were burning as he sprinted through the woods, sandals crashing through the underbrush. Veins stood out on his musclar thighs as they propelled him forward, jostling his massive manhood around beneath the battleskirt he wore around his waist. His bare chest was glistening with sweat, muscles bouncing and nipples jiggling as his thick arms pumped, a damp smattering of ginger hair tracing down from his sternum to his groin. 

While there hadn’t been any villains to dispatch of recently, a hero had to stay prepared. He had to keep in prime form, working his body to perfection. He had woken up this morning with a boner and an urge to feel the wind between his thighs, and so he was out.

Hercules slowed and caught his breath at the base of a cliff. Chest still heaving, he launched himself upwards, calloused hands finding familiar jagged rock, and began to scale the face. He ascended rapidly, white dust sticking to his torso where it brushed up against jagged edges. 

Before long, he was able to swing his legs onto a ledge above his head, and roll into a cave. He sat up, and looked at the sprawling landscape beneath him, his breath slowing. He always loved this spot, as much for the view as for the relief that the hardest part of his workout was done. He felt slightly intoxicated as he took a deep breath in and smelled something, familiar.

A thin hand was placed on his shoulder, and traced down to cup his pec as lips enveloped his ear. He wasn’t as startled as he should have been.

“Meg-- how did you know about this place?”

The hand drew back upwards, turning his face away from the view and into the cave, and he saw the familiar slim form slowly walk into the darkness. Hercules pushed himself to his feet and followed.

He had never known the cave went back this far. A few minutes in, he came upon the slim one reclining in a pool of water, some shallow spring crackling up from the ground. He unclasped his skirt and dropped it to the side. He lowered himself down, and relished the cold water on the underside of his thighs, half submerging his cock, as his balls constricted in protest.

A slender hand pushed his chest, and Hercules allowed his back to be submerged as lips closed around his cock. He shivered and was immediately rock hard, the hot mouth around his swollen member contrasting steeply with the chill running down his back. Hercules moaned and tilted his head back, closing his eyes as he felt an uncanny draining from his cock.

He was so tired, all of a sudden, his aching muscles relaxing into the pool. He could hardly think straight. Thin fingers traced his abs as a hard nose pushed against his ginger pubes, his massive cock deep in a throat. And again, he felt a peculiar draining.

He had only felt that way once, fighting his way to survive in a pool of the dead in the Underworld. It was the feeling of his life sucking away.

Hercules was suddenly on edge. But he was so drowsy. He fought to keep his eyes open, and strained to lift his head from the pool of water and look down towards his cock. His eyes met piercing blue ones staring straight back at him. It wasn’t Meg, though the illusion had held for long enough. It was Hades.

The death lord spat Hercules’ cock onto his belly, and sneered, “Did you miss me, baby?”, and he rammed two bony long fingers into the hero’s ass.

Hercules screamed and arched his back, but found he couldn’t pull his arms or legs from the mysterious pool. Teeth bit into his hip, and then his cock was sucked back into Hades’ life draining mouth. His screams turned to moans as the god probed him with his unhumanly long fingers and pulled at his cock with his lips and teeth. The hero twitched and strained, but could not free himself. 

Hades picked up the pace, impaling his throat with the hero’s cock over and over again, forcing more and more fingers to explore his hot ass, relishing the sight of straining wet muscle beneath him. He felt sphincter muscles tightening around his fingers, and the hero’s back arched once more as he began to unleash a load of cum into his captor’s throat. Hades kept sucking, and Hercules kept cuming, spasming as his eyes rolled back into his head and his mouth hung slack, emitting a long, fading groan. 

Finally, the hero was still. Hades swallowed deeply, feeling sated as the salty seed oozed down his throat. He slid his fingers out of Hercules’ ass, and pushed himself to his feet. One reversal down. He had worried about how many it would take to accumulate the power he needed… but now, having experienced the thrill of it, he was looking forward to the months of scheming and fucking ahead.

He lifted the hero’s limp legs, surprised by their heavy weight. He began to drag the naked captive deeper into the cave, his unconscious head bumping along the rocks, with only a discarded skirt to leave as a trace for this entrance to the Underworld.


	3. Taming the Beast

Prince Adam looked out of the window of his quarters into the howling storm. On a clear night, from this height he would be able to see for miles beyond the castle's grounds. Tonight, he could barely see the outer walls, and then only when lightning cracked across the sky. There would be no telling when his guest had arrived… until he was standing in his room.

If he came at all. The conditions tonight were worse than during any of his past visits. Still, he had never been let down before by Cogsworth, who was discreet and efficient despite his obvious discomfort with these matters. Adam would love to have been a fly on the wall the first time Cogsworth blundered into a brothel, blushing as he consulted with pimps about men who would meet his master's criteria.

Though it was unspoken, Adam was certain Belle knew. She was religious about her biweekly overnight trips to her father's village, and never once asked him about what he did when she was gone. She knew he still had the Beast in him… and he had to let his carnal instincts out. He loved her better, and more gently, after he had ravaged another man.

He always wondered how much Beast he was, and how much man. His face certainly seemed to have lost the Beast, at least-- when he wasn't fucking. Soft auburn hair that fell to his shoulders, framing smooth skin, high cheekbones. He still found himself turning sideways to fit through spaces that before had been too narrow for him, but that his slender form could now easily fit through. He retained an unusually pronounced musculature, though, and downy auburn hair hair grew from his nipples to his manhood, where he had been smooth before he was cursed. His genitals bore the most obvious signs of the change-- they were bigger than any he had seen on his rent boys. 

Not that he had seen that many. Was it eight now? Nine? Most were one-time things, hazy memories of slapping flesh and moaning and wet tongues. He had three repeat favorites that he saw most often, and of those-- Pierre’s visits made up more than half. He was true to Adam's type-- early twenties, pretty face, blond hair, tanned trim body, an ass with just enough fat to survive the Beast's pounding. He wasn't even the hottest of the boys, to be frank, but after he took Adam's load he would lie curled on his side as they cuddled, the prince's hand gently caressing the scratches on his chest still fading from their fucking. And they would talk for hours.

The last time, as they were bathed in the warm glow of his fireplace, lying this time on a thick fur at the foot of the bed, the conversation turned back to sex. As usual, the prince directed the evening.

“Who's the best lay you've ever had?”

“You,” the boy responded, without hesitation, flexing his ass cheeks against Adam's crotch.

Adam laughed loudly and gave Pierre's shoulder a gentle shove (far gentler than the shove he'd given just an hour earlier to drive the boy’s head down onto his cock as he gagged). 

“You have to say that, it doesn't count. I'm paying you. Besides me?”

“Hmmmm. Well, recently at least… there's a new whore we've seen working the bar.”

“Another whore? You two certainly would have a lot to talk about. Are you feeling… romantic?”

It was Pierre's turn to laugh. He rolled onto his side, his smiling eyes meeting Adam's. “Not like that. I hired him. Don't look so surprised-- your retainer for my discretion pays more than enough for me to put some money aside for… a rainy day.”

Adam kissed his mouth, and wrapped his arms back around Pierre’s shoulders. He had been surprised to feel a chill of jealousy when he thought of Pierre truly loving another, and was relieved to know that this was just transactional. “So… tell me… what is he like?”

“Different. Hot. He's meaty-- all muscle, and hairy. He’s completely dominant. He controlled me, used me, fucked my brains out. It's part of the reason I liked him-- he reminded me of you”

Adam felt butterflies spreading throughout his body at that. His cock shifted on his thighs and throbbed.

“And again- different. He never spoke, not once. None of the boys have heard him speak, or even seen his face. He doesn't live at the bar with the rest of us; he’ll just show up, work a client, then, disappear.” 

“I don't understand-- how haven't you seen his face?”

“Oh. I should have led with that. We only see him wearing a mask.”

“Of?”

For the first time, Pierre looked abashed. He blushed, and averted his eyes to Adam's sternum.

“You. The way you used to be. The Beast.”

\-------------

Rain lashed against the window. Adam stepped away from and walked over to the fireplace. He poured himself a glass of wine from the mantle, letting his exposed legs soak in the warmth from the crackling fire beneath. 

He was apprehensive. He had always felt some nervous energy before a new boy came, but this was different. Everything about this man was odd-- the silence, the mask, the mysterious comings and goings. But he had passed Cogsworth's meticulous scrutiny (save an interview; he must be mute)-- submitting semen to be tested for disease, a background check for ties to any revolutionaries, references from other clients. Again, Adam would have killed to see Cogsworth's dutiful mortification as he asked strange men about their satisfaction with a male slut.

Mostly, he was nervous about the more mundane differences. He had never slept with someone stronger, older than him. He was the Beast, royalty; it was for him to command and use his men. But seeing the look on Pierre's face, hearing the lust in his voice… how could Adam not want to experience that? Just once?

He started as his bedroom door swung open. 

The man strode into the light of the fire. He was already nude. He wasn't any taller than Adam, but God was he massive. The biggest man the prince had seen since the night of his transformation, the night Gaston plummeted from the roof.

The mask completely obscured his face. It was better quality than the typical Beast masks that were popular these days at his fairs and festivals-- it seemed to be made with real fur. 

Black curly hair adorned his body. His cock was already rock hard, and like the rest of him-- thick and veiny. 

Adam glanced at the wine in his hand. His heart was racing. “Um… would you like a glass?”

The whore strode over, took the glass from Adam, and placed it back on the mantle. He roughly shoved the prince to his knees, and slapped him across the face with his meaty dick. He put his fingers through Adam's fine hair, grabbing his scalp, and shoved his cock into his mouth. 

Adam did all he could not to gag as his face was fucked. This was fast, and brutal, and new-- but he was already hard, leaking precum onto the floor as the stranger's thick head pressed past his tonsils.

He needed air. He brought his hands to the man's hips and pushed back, gasping as the cock fell from his mouth. Immediately, the stranger grabbed his cock and again began to beat the prince's face with it. It was clear he was not done.

Adam kissed the head of the cock, and began to lick down it's length, while his hands began to explore up the stranger's hairy abs and chest. He pinched a nipple with one had as he sucked a meaty ball into his mouth, his other hand tracing back down the man's lower back. He spat out the ball and went back to licking, but apparently that wouldn't do-- he was hoisted up from under his arms, and, as if he weighed nothing, tossed onto the bed.

The stranger was on him immediately, humping vigorously as his hairy pecs rubbed against Adam's lightly furred chest, their eyes meeting through the gaps in the mask, his cock grinding into Adam's genitals. One hand pinned the prince's hands above his head, while the other began to squeeze his ass cheeks. Adam was aroused, scared, as turned on as he'd ever been. He thought of his rent boys as he used them like this, of Pierre's moans and he pounded his intestines, and he felt more precum ooze out of his cock, smeared around by the stranger's thrusts. He lifted his legs and wrapped them around the man's lower back.

That was all the invitation that was needed. The man backed off, and tilted Adam's ass up to the ceiling, leaving just his shoulders and neck on the bed. From above, he angled his cock over the prince's hole.

Adam gasped as the whore entered him. It seemed impossible that it would fit-- but the monstrous cock kept pushing deeper into him. He wasn't sure he could do this, and his legs instinctively pushed back up against his fucker. Rough hands forced them back and rolled him even further onto his shoulders, his toes grazing the sheets by his ears.

The whore began to draw his cock up out of Adam's ass, then, just as the head was half out, he slammed his hips back down, hairy balls slapping against the prince's tailbone as he let out a moan. Again-- slow pull, hard thrust, thwack. Adam was dizzy with it-- each thrust was intense, the hot cock filling him and ramming into his prostate. He could barely keep his eyes from rolling back into his head.

After a few more hard pounds, the man picked up a more regular cadence, and began to truly fuck. He lowered their hips so he could get on his knees and more easily plow his prey. The prince's legs followed the stranger as his ass came closer to the bed and back lowered down onto the sheets, and he rested his calves on the hulk's shoulders.

Each thrust caused Adam to slide slightly on the sheets, his hair pulling beneath his head, pecs jiggling slightly, legs bouncing from the slut's shoulders. They were both shiny with a fine sweat, illuminated by the crackling fire. 

As he fucked, the whore manhandled the Prince. He dug his fingernails into his pecs; he twisted a nipple; he roughly yanked his cock: he left visible scratch marks across his abs; he squeezed the prince's biceps as he pinned the arms above his head.

Adam felt goosebumps with each new assault, as his insides were pounded. He was hot with lust. He slid his arms free, and pulled the stranger's head down to his own, slipping the mask off as their lips met. His mouth was filled by a probing tongue as hands came down to the side of his face. He arched his back as the cock again invaded his ass, and he felt the stranger slide one hand back to his arms, pinning them, and another to his neck, applying light pressure.

There was a crack of lightning, and the stranger pulled back. Adam felt a cold rush of recognition. He knew that sneering face. 

“Miss me?” snarled Gaston, as he tightened his grip on the Beast's throat. He kept fucking as he prey struggled, strong legs flailing against his hairy chest to no avail, arms flexing against their captor, torso twisting. He saw the Beast's eyes roll back into his head, and the the flailing turned into spasms, legs jiggling against him and ass clenching around his cock. 

Gaston gave one final, deep thrust, and both men came, splattering the Beast's insides and torso as he went limp.

Gaston released his grip just in time, and heard breath rush into the unconscious face beneath his.

He had waited for this moment for so long, degrading himself to build his credibility. Once he had ravaged that twink Pierre, he knew he had victory in his grasp-- that moaning boy would do anything for his new master. 

Gaston stood up, and slung the limp form over his shoulders. The storm would give good cover as he fled. They had places to be.


	4. Filling Aladdin

Jafar smiled as he heard a door slam, shuffling and struggling footsteps, muggled protests from a gagged mouth. The cellar he had found on the outskirts of the city was short on pleasures, but high on privacy-- and that was exactly what he had needed for his triumphant return. No questioning eyes glimpsing the flashes of purple and pink as he honed his magic throughout the night. No resistance for his patrolling guards. No notice paid to the man who was once dead, gathering strength again.

A strong hand knocked on the door separating Jafar’s spartan chamber from the interior space of the cellar. His planning had come to fruition. He strode across the narrow square of light on the floor left by his only window, and opened the door. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the dim room inside.

Six burly guards held a sack aloft, which was shifting and stretching as its captive struggled. Jafar snapped his fingers, and blinked as a purple flash briefly blinded him. The sack fell apart into tatters, cut by his spell, and then he could see his prize see with his own eyes: Aladin. 

The young prince still bore the markings of a teen who grew up on the streets, despite his jeweled attire-- eyes burning with anger and fear, narrow frame taught with muscle. Jafar snapped again, and again blinked against the flash-- and now the ornate clothes were falling to the ground in tatters, jewels clunking heavily onto the clay floor. There was that taught body, kicking and writhing all the more frantically.

“You’ve made my guards work hard. Too hard, impertinent boy. I think it’s best we reward them for the inconvenience you’ve caused.”

Another snap, more clothes dropping to the floor in shreds. Jafar admired his six specimens. All well over thirty or forty, heavily muscled and hairy, good Arabian stock. One was nearly seven feet tall, with a massive cock to match. The rest ranged in height, down to the most diminutive in the five-foot range, just a tad shorter than the smooth teen struggling in his arms.

The tall guard wrapped his hands under Aladin’s arms and behind his head, forcing his chin down onto his chest as his arms came back. One guard took each of the prince’s toned legs up, so he was suspended almost horizontally in the air beneath his feet, limp cock hanging down by his tight asshole. The other three began to touch themselves, touch their captive, growing hard as their hands explored his sweaty body and their own burly ones.

“Well, it’s taken long enough to get here-- begin.” Jafar ordered..

The short guard flipped Aladin’s cock up onto his belly, spat once onto his hole, which puckered in response, and immediately shoved his middle finger in up to the knuckle. The prince let out a scream into his gag as he tried to throw his head back against his captor’s arms. He let out lower moans as the guard began to probe, pushing up against his insides. A second finger followed to another moan. The guard spread them out and twisted his arm, loosening the hero’s ring of muscle as his own now semi-erect cock leaked a white sting onto his belly.

The guard pulled his fingers out with a soft squelch, and slapped the quivering hole with his thick dick. He pressed in, and Aladin’s eyes rolled into his head as he let out a guttural groan. The guard began to pump his cock in and out of the virgin hole, his hairy pecs rubbings against his captive’s smooth legs as he pounded. He fucked fast and hard, bringing his hand up to grab the teen’s hair and meet his eyes. He saw a hint of lust in the glare, and let out a deep roar as he began to cum, pulling out partly through and spraying the prince’s ass and balls with the rest of his load. 

The next two guards jostled for their turn, shoving as they both rubbed their cocks against the cummy backside of the tanned captive. “Boys, no need to fight--” Jafar sneered, and snapped his fingers. One of the guards found himself floating mid-air, beneath Aladin, on his back. His pelvis rose as his competitor’s came forward, and both cocks squeezed into their destination. Aladin’s eyes rolled back again as he moaned, two dicks alternating into his innards, from behind and below, rubbing against each other as they strecthed the walls of his ass. Against his own wishes, the prince was hard, oozing cum onto his belly as he felt the twin snakes ravaging his insides.

Jafar snapped again, and the three supporting guards stepped back, as Aladin stayed aloft and bound. The two who had held his legs began to stroke themselves, slapping the asses of the fuckers, nibbling on the prince’s nipples. The tall one who had held his head now tilted it backwards towards the ground, and shoved his massive cock into his mouth. He could see the man’s Adam’s apple move down his throat as the cock shoved deeper, his balls slapping against his cock-sheath’s forehead. 

Jafar floated towards the ceiling to watch the complete defeat of his enemy. Two guards fucking his holes as they stood at either end of his body, another joining in from beneath, two ravaging the rest of his taught, veiny body. His arms still struggling against magical bonds, his cock bouncing as his ass was plowed, his hair hanging down towards the floor from his upside-down face as his throat was fucked. 

Jafar snapped. He saw the cocks of the two soldiers besides Aladin swell with veins, growing thicker and longer. Aladin’s belly bulged as the cocks inside him swelled, their shapes distending his abs as they pulsed in and out of his body. Jafar heard gagging for breath as the throat-fucker’s cock engorged. 

He snapped again, and saw stretching, growing, straining through the fucking, more frantic gagging. One more snap. Aladin went limp as all of the guards swelled one last time, then began to cum copiously, cocks draining down towards their original sizes. The prince was covered in the thick mess of his captors’ spunk as his body was magically lowered to the ground, from his face, down his limp chest, and across his own ass and genitals, the guard’s semen mixed with his own, leaked against his will. His chest rose and fell slowly as he lay on the ground and the guards strode away, cum leaking from his now-gaping rosebud. 

Jafar smiled. His powers were beyond what they had ever been before. And he had no doubt he could use them to keep his enemy alive on their long journey to their final destination… while using his body to the furthest limits he could imagine.


	5. Pirate's Booty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Hook breaks in some horny captives.

It was a clear night, one of the first in weeks, and the stars shone down on London. Peter felt a slight chill as he flew, the air flowing through his tunic smelling like fall approaching. It had been a wonderful summer, and he dreaded John’s start at university in just a week. 

He had been visiting Wendy, John, and Michael ever since their first visit to Neverland. He aged a bit every time he left, but it was worth it to spend time with them. Wendy had outgrown him fast, and was now married-- but he and John seemed to be about the same age now. 

He had never wanted to grow up, but he had been surprised by some of the fun of it. He had grown stronger, though he was still slender and smooth. He had marvelled as his cock had matured, and had spent (probably too much) time pleasuring himself, though he had yet to find someone to use it with.

Age had suited John even more than him. The once nerdy boy had grown into an athlete, a crew star with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. He was still shy, and as often as not when he was flirted with, he averted his eyes behind his glasses and ran a hand through his black hair as a nervous tic. Peter was amazed by him-- his skill, his strength, his sweetness-- and had loved spending this summer with him. If only he didn’t have to grow up any more.

As Peter neared their house, something felt wrong. The city was too quiet. And then he saw it-- a ship, floating above the street, level with John’s window. He had never expected to see that ship again, and he was overcome by a wave of fear and anger. Hook. 

Peter dove down towards the ground, hoping he hadn’t been seen, and cruised beneath the canopy of the trees lining the street. He came up beneath the ship, and edged his head towards the side so he could look up. He saw two pirates on the deck reaching over towards John’s open window, and then-- was that a pillow?-- a sack was passed to them. As it moved, Peter realized with horror what was happening. They had taken John.

The pirate in the house climbed to the windowsill and leapt to the deck. No sooner had Peter heard his boots clunk onto the wood than the ship lifted skyward with alarming speed, nearly exposing his position. Peter flew up and grabbed a hold of the anchor mounted to the ship’s side. The boat accelerated into the night. It was all Peter could do to hold on-- he knew if he lost his grip, he could never fly fast enough to keep up. 

Peter was buffeted by wind and clouds for what felt like hours. Finally, the ship slowed to a more leisurely pace, and Peter edged his way up the chain. He peeked onto the deck, and was surprised to find it completely deserted.

Filled with trepidation, he lowered himself down to the floor, slipping his shoes off of his feet to muffle any sound. He edged his way over towards the captain’s quarters built onto the deck, and looked through a window. He could clearly see John’s back, hanging from his wrist by chains. He was shirtless, his broad back muscles slack and his head hanging down on his chest. Peter swelled with rage, and without looking any further, threw open the door to the chamber. 

No one seemed to be there to get in his way. Peter quickly crept over to John, coming around to his front. He had a black eye, and was gagged-- and was either asleep or unconscious. Eerily, Peter realized that the chains holding him up from his wrists weren’t anchored to the ceiling-- they were floating free in the air. They must be enchanted in some way. 

He gently put his hand up to John’s face, feeling goosebumps as he brushed past his muscular chest, and pulled the gag free. He was relieved to hear air rush into John’s mouth, and saw him begin to stir. Peter reached up and began to untangle the chair around John’s right wrist, his body pushing up close against his strong friend’s, and he felt an unbidden twinging in his cock.

“Peter…” John nearly moaned into his ear as he awoke. “Don’t… you have to go....”

Peter didn’t even have time to reply. No sooner had he untangled the chain from John’s wrist-- it came alive. With shocking speed, it snaked down his arm and around his neck, pulling him backward onto his toes.

John cried out and reached for him with his free hand, but he had been pulled just too far away. Peter gasped for air and pulled at the chain, and was relieved as it slacked a bit-- but just a bit. He was left with pressure on his throat, his toes barely touching the ground, and suddenly the double doors on the side of the quarters flew open. 

Six burly pirates strode in, followed by one with a gaudy red coat and unmistakable mustache... Hook. 

“Peter, you really are predictable. You might not be a boy anymore… but you clearly haven’t learned yet how to scheme like a man.”

“Hook, you rotten scumbag, you’ll--MHHHGMNG.” Peter was quickly muffled as the nearest pirate stuffed a gag into his mouth. 

“Such heroics,” Hook said lightly, rolling his eyes as he walked around his prize captive. “And such… loyalty… for your friends.” 

“MGMFHF,” Peter screamed into his gag as the captain turned to John, and raised his hook to his chest. John moaned and shuddered as the villain scraped it down, leaving an impossibly thin red line of blood from his nipple towards his navel.

“How clumsy of me,” Hook laughed, bringing his arm further down till it caught the waistband of John’s pajamas… and then tore them free.

Horrified as he was, Peter couldn’t tear his eyes away. His friend’s limp cock was still substantial, hanging down from his narrow waist against his thighs thick with muscle. 

Hook stepped pulled another chain from beneath his coat, and it re-wrapped John’s free wrist. “Men, you’ve worked hard… enjoy.”

Peter struggled against his chain and screamed again into his gag as the pirates converged on John, stripping their clothes as they went. Meaty hands began to find puchase on his niples, in his dark hair, on their own cocks. 

Hook strode over behind Peter as one of the pirates pulled John and his floating chain downwards, shoving his fat cock into the teen’s mouth. He began to fuck deep into his throat as the other pirates kept stroking themselves and the body between them. Hook pressed himself against Peter’s back, and put his mouth to his ears.

“Looks like someone likes what he sees,” he whispered, his normal hand pressing against Peter’s shamefully hard cock through his pants. Peter was scared for his friend, and for himself, but he was inexplicably feeling more turned on then ever before in his life, and couldn’t help pushing his hips forward and increasing the pressure on his cock.  
“Someone’s wanted this for a long time,” the captain cooed, his hook finding the strings at the V of Peter’s tunic and pulling until it fell away, his nipples hardening against the cold night air. 

John was on his hands and knees now, a different pirate fucking his face. A third spat between the thick globes of his ass, and began to rub his fat cock up between them. 

“Too bad it won’t be you to break in that tight hole,” Hook snarled, his hand stroking up Peter’s abs and pale chest before plunging down beneath his waistband and pulling his cock free.

Peter moaned as his enemy began to jerk him off, and as the pirate finally slid his cock into the athlete’s hole in front of him. John’s ass jiggled as it was pounded, his meaty pecs moving forward and back, his arms straining to support him, still gagging on yet another new cock invading his face. 

Peter writhed and struggled with his hands against the chain around his neck, and felt a rising pressure in his cock…

“Oh, not yet, my toy” giggled Hook, as he dropped his hand away. He was so close! Peter found himself thrusting forwards, his pants slipping towards his knees as he craved that final pressure on his cock, but he was left there hard as a rock as Hook backed away. The first fucking pirate let out a moan, and burried his cock deep in the athlete. When he pulled it out, Peter could see with envy the cum trailing down it’s side and from John’s puckering asshole. The next pirate shoved John’s hips towards the ground and impaled him mercilessly, grinding the teen’s meaty cock onto the deck as his back arched upwards and head tilted back to receive another mouthful of cum. 

Peter shuddered as Hook’s lips returned to his ear. This time, the captain didn’t say a word, but began to kiss and bite. Peter realized the captain had stripped his clothes off, feeling a hairy chest press against his back, a hard cock squeezed up between his ass cheeks and the older man’s muscled belly. 

As Peter felt facial hair scraping against his neck and kisses sucking against his skin, another pirate emptied his load all over John’s ass. The one currently fucking his throat pulled out, and rolled John flat onto his back, the chains now pinning his arms down to the floor in a T.

“Peter…” he moaned, cum trickling down the side of his cheek.

“So sweet,” snarled the captain, and Peter suddenly became aware again of his sharp hook, pressed dangerously up against his nipple. “We wouldn’t want to keep the lovebirds apart”

With that, he shoved Peter. The chain around his neck lowered him forward to 45 degrees and dragged his kicking legs against the floor. Peter inhaled sharply as he felt his cock push against John’s face.

“No--” his friend gasped before Peter’s cock was forced into his open mouth. 

Peter had never felt anything so good as John’s hot, wet tongue against his cock, and he instinctively thrust deeper into his friend’s throat. 

“Don’t be greedy, boy,” Hook intoned, pulling the gag free from Peter’s mouth as the last pirate lifted John’s hips up to 45 degrees, regagging the hero with the athlete’s massive cock before he could even say a word. Peter gave up his struggle against the chain around his neck and wrapped his arms around John’s lower back beneath him as he struggled with the not-yet hard meat in his mouth. He felt it twinge and leak precum as the pirate re-entered John’s hole, still slimy with the cum of the last few predators. 

“And now, the best for last,” Peter heard Hook moan, and then he felt a veiny cock pushing against his virgin ass… and sliding right in. 

There was no thought, no resistance, just sensation--  
...hairy legs against his, arms gripping his shoulders, hairy pecs pressed against his back...  
...the cock of his enemy filling him and pounding his thighs down against his friend’s neck...  
... his balls slapping John’s forehead as that wet throat constricted around his cock...  
… his narrow torso grazing John’s muscled form…  
... the cock finally hardening in his mouth, pressing up against his tonsils as he sucked…  
… his friend’s ass cheeks jiggling in his hands as the pirate plowed into him…  
… the sounds of flesh smacking flesh, slurping, the pirate’s heavy breathing…  
… the cold metal hook, pulling the chain around his throat.

He wasn’t sure who started it, but when one of them began to cum, everything happened at once-- Peter felt John’s ass cheeks tighten, his own chute flexing against the cock draining into him, spunk spurting into his throat, his cock finally releasing a load into the spluttering mouth beneath him, the pirate pulling free of John’s ass just in time to spray Peter’s face. 

The teens tumbled to the floor as the men fucking them let go, sticky bodies lying on top of each other, faces breathing deeply against fat cocks. 

“Don’t miss me too much, boys,” Hook laughed, striding out of the room and locking the door behind him. 

“Boss,” the pirate said, looking back over his shoulder, “you’re just going to leave them there? What if they make a break for it?”

“They won’t. For one, those chains won’t let them out of the room. For two… I think they’ll be a bit distracted.”

Hook glanced in the window and smiled wistfully as he saw how right he was. Peter was still on top of the broader athlete beneath him, but had turned himself around, and was passionately kissing his longtime crush, wrapped in his muscular arms, sticky cocks still limp against each other, for now…

“We’ll let them have their fun. We’ll get where we need to go. And when we get bored, we’ll fuck the shit out of those horny sluts in front of each other.”


End file.
